Strike Witches: Fix-Winged Hero
by Thunderman227
Summary: Its late 1944, and the world is in the grips of war. In this world exists an enemy unlike anything the human race has ever seen. The "Witches", humanity's only trump card, have held what little ground remains in a losing war. Ordinary soldiers die in droves, defending their county. The Witches can only do so much. Something needs to change, before its too late. T for language!
1. Wings over the Atlantic

**Date: July 9, 1944  
Time: 2100  
Location: Mid-Atlantic shipping lane, code name "Golden Trail"  
Group: Task Force Omega.  
Mission: Classified**

* * *

**(Hey all. I just wanted to say thank you for reading into my first ever story here on Fan-fiction. As a new writer, I would love some feedback on how I'm doing and what I could improve on in the future (if you want there to be one) and I will do my best to make the story enjoyable to read) **

The sun had just finished its daylong trek through the sky and had arrived at its final destination setting snugly at the horizon line the separates the sky from the sea. The large, life giving star illuminated both the sky and water alike in a brilliant blazing reddish-orange glow which matched well with the deep sapphire waters and the light "candy" blue of the Mid-Atlantic sky. It was peaceful, almost disturbingly so, how with the soft light of the sky and the gentle sway of the calm oceanic waters, a traveler could be swayed into a sense of peaceful bliss as they made their way over the waves. Above the sea, a small cluster of puffy white clouds glided softly over the waters below casting a small shadow as they moved through the sky overhead. One could see around for miles and only see water in every direction; just plain, open water and near limitless sky as far as the eye could go.

The water itself was peaceful as well, the sound small waves made as they swayed to and fro without a sense of direction, just passengers to a natural force they couldn't control. Things could and would be different if a storm where present instead of the nice day that was currently in place. The sea could grow angry, the calm sounds of the wind and waves replaced with the loud roar and heavy thunder of the angry sea. Many times a year, this part of the Atlantic was known for its rough seas and troubled storms. However, no current storms where present to disturb this example of nature's wonder and peace.

That was, until a slow rumble pierced the calm air. It was thin at first, just barely noticeable above the rustling of wind and sloshing of the water. But in time, it grew in both intensity and strength as it grew closer. The sound climbed, until it over took all the other sounds around the sea. If one would look up, they could see the cause of the disturbance fly overhead, close to the water and swaying back and forth over the glass-like waters. It was nothing of nature's design, but was made by the hands and tools of mankind. To be accurate, it was created by the hands and tools of the United States of Liberion. The proof of such a claim could be seen on either wing of the metal bird, a large blue star that's encased in a larger blue circle with a white background, the colors of which stuck out hard against the deep blue shade of the body. The aircraft made a sudden change of course and made a wide left hand turn and headed past the group of puffy white clouds on its new course, leaving behind a small trail of smoke in its wake.

The aircraft was not flying of its own will. Inside the machine sat its controller, busily looking side to side out over the glass-like water on both sides of the plane. With a few adjustments, the aircraft tilted upward and flew higher up into the sky, flying farther away from the water and into the open airspace above the Atlantic. The pilot once again scanned his surroundings, looking left to right and up and back, as if looking for something out of place. On his face was a pair of thick, black goggles secured tightly to his head by straps that wrapped around a black leather skull cap that covered the pilots head. He wore a heavy brown leather vest that had that matched his dark green leather gloves and dark brown boots. The man's eyes darted back and forth, from all sides around him to the mirrors placed above his head used to check behind him.

He tilted his craft once again, this time to the right, in a slow, clockwise circle. He looked out in all the different directions that he could see with his craft in such a turn before he leveled out and headed back toward the group of slow moving white clouds. He watched said clouds pass him by for the second time this evening before he made a slight adjustment to the heading of his craft. Seeming content, he moved his hand from the flight stick and to the black radio-transmitter attached to his flight mask. He flicked a switch on the control panel in front of him with his other hand and waited until the plane picked up the radio band he needed to communicate on. A short burst of static filled the peaceful cabin as he adjusted the frequency with the set of nobs. When the static stopped and had reached the set frequency, he placed the mask on and began his message;

"This is Cloud Hopper to White whale. Repeat, Cloud hopper to White whale. Please Respond" He said calmly and while looking over his shoulder at the sea below. Even within an hour of flight, the sun had now nearly sank behind the cusp of the horizon. The sky was now pinkish, with a tint of blackness that would soon over take everything in a short amount of time.

It was only a few seconds until he heard the reply, "Cloud Hopper, this is the White whale. How goes the hunting?"

The voice was deep, commanding and filled with age. He recognized it as the commander of Omega fleet and captain of the USLS Aircraft Carrier, _"Yorktown"._ The fleet itself was many miles away from where the pilot was currently flying and was due to arrive once he had sent in his mission report.

The pilot replied back with a jokingly sad sounding tone. "White whale, this is Cloud hopper. The fish aren't biting. I say again, the fish aren't biting. I think we need to use some better bait, over." He smiled and laughed a bit at his attempt at humor.

The captain on the other end must have thought it was funny, because he heard a low crackle of laughter in his deep voice and the clearing of his throat. "Roger that. Well Lieutenant, We could strap some cooked meat to your plane, see if the enemy take the bait. Better yet, How'bout we paint your plane rainbow colors and strap you to the front of the ship. See if that works out any better."

"I-I don't think that's necessary captain." The Pilot stuttered back, hoping that the captain was kidding. "I don't think the Neuroi know we're here, which I would call a lucky break, sir." He looked back out at the setting sun just as it was going under the water and disappearing for the last time. The scattering of the light caused the water to turn almost amber in color.

"Well, I hope so Lieutenant." The commander sighed in both relief and a bit of held in anger, "We've already lost three convoys to those damn creatures in the last four months. We need to keep this shipping lane open to Britannina if we want them to stay in the war and our campaign to continue. We need to keep these supply's save, dry and on time and we're taking a big risk as it is having this many ships without a proper escort, that's why we have you and your plane acting as heavy recon".

Mentally, the Lieutenant sighed, knowing that his little plane would do little against a real attack. "Roger that. Do you want Cloud hopper to return to the CAP, the way-point is clear as far as I can see." The pilot asked as he scanned the sea and sky around him, but once again seeing nothing for miles.

"Affirmative, Cloud hopper; Return to the CAP at once. We will change course to the next way-point after you arrive, Gray whale out."

The pilot complied and angled his plane sharply to the right and accelerated away from the area. The plane's turbo charged engine letting lose a heavy roar as it gained speed and velocity. On the tips of the wings formed white trails, a result of the hot wings cutting through the cold air above the water. With the loss of light and the night now dominating the sky, he flipped a switch and a light green glow illuminated the instruments and gauges allowing him to see. He kept his running lights off so he wouldn't lead any Neuroi that he couldn't see in the dark back to the fleet.

He kept his plane low to the water, trying to make himself the smallest target possible that he could. He kept in eye on the altitude gauge and on the water level to make sure he didn't clip a wave and crash in the dark by mistake. He could see the whitecaps of the waves under his plane and when he looked behind him, he could see a thin white mist from the prop being so close to the water. The mist being thrown off from the waves was also spraying the canopy with water making visual judgment a little difficult, but the Lieutenant continued to keep his plane under control the entire time. The gentle sway of the plane weaving back and forth over the cold waters below started to play havoc on the pilot, nearly putting him to sleep as he made his way back home.

* * *

(Time Jump)

It took about thirty-five minutes to reach the outside layer of the CAP. He could see the running lights of several circling craft flying several hundred feet above him along with the lights of several ships on the horizon. As he grew closer, he could make out the silhouette of the first few ships leading the convoy painted gray against the horizon bobbing and swaying in waves that had developed in the last half-hour. Judging by the way the ships where moving in the waves , the weather in the area had changed since sundown with some of the larger waves slashing against the sides of the ships and spraying water up onto the deck. A thin gray mist had also enveloped the water, rolling like a ghost over the water as the ships cut through. One of the leading ships, a _Fletcher_-Class destroyer named "_Lights Dawn"_ could be seen leading the convoy through the mist and could be seen braking over a rather large wave and smashing down on the other side, the lights on the bow and stern thrashing violently as the ship moved through the water.

As he was marveling at the impressive sight, a bright flash from about twenty yards behind the destroyer caught his eye and then almost his ear as a glowing sphere flew over his left side and exploded with a bright white flash. He recognized it instantly as a five inch shell fired from a _Fletcher-_Class destroyer's main 127 mm gun, one of five. He flipped on his running lights and rolled up into the air as more than a dozen spot lights all turned and illuminated his plane against the back drop of the dark night sky. The sudden change in light forced the pilot to shield his eyes from the light.

He grabbed for his radio as the channel was flooded with threats and very angry voices from the convoys defending ships. He was about to speak as another shell flew up, nearly missing him, and exploded off behind him. "Hey!" he yelled into the mic. "I'm a friendly. I Say again, you are firing at a **Friendly!"** He cried, keeping his plane in a circle above the ships.

After some grumbling and a few very pissed off gunners yelling at him, the light show was put out and he was once again flying in the dark above the fleet that just tried to kill him. He ripped off the mask in both anger and relive as another voice erupted over the channel. "Lieutenant Robbins, what the hell did I tell you about entering the CAP without telling us you're coming?"

"Sir" Robbins started…

"Don't sir me Lieutenant. We almost blew you're ass out of the sky because of that little stunt. The last time it was during the day and the plane on patrol saw you, this time it was a destroyer with gunners hyped up on coffee. You're lucky I told the _"Airtine"_ to hold fire until we had lights on you. You could have been killed!" Robbins could hear the captain's fist hit the panel near what must have been the radar operator, which must have scared the hell out of him because there was a girl like yelp followed by a chair falling over.

"Sorry sir. I forgot about signaling before I crossed the line. I was focused on flying low and on the floor so if I being chased it would be hard to spot my aircraft from the sky." He sighed and leaned back into his seat, rubbing his eyes with his hands," It's been a long day, sir. I would like to return to the ship if that's alright with you".

There was a pause before the captain replied, his voice trying to stay calm and collected. "Granted. Get your ass back on this deck before I tell the gunners we have live target practice. Jefferson out"

With a click, the captain killed the connection. A few seconds later, the red and blue lights on the deck lit up on the Aircraft Carrier. The ship now looked like a floating runway as the lights bowed up and down with the ship in the near pitch-black night. On the center of the ship a few lines of white lights lit the center to make the small, moving runway easier to see at night.

With a smile, Robbins flew over the group of ships that where situated in a defensive formation around the carrier and lined himself up for a landing. He could see the lights from the control tower and the upper observation platform flicker on as he grew closer. He could also make out shapes moving around on the deck, which was probably from the ground crew rushing to prepare for the landing of an aircraft. As he approached the aft of the ship, he radioed ahead to the controller in the tower. "This is Lieutenant James Robbins in the cloud hopper, requesting permission to land" he called out over the radio.

"This is Carrier _"Yorktown"; _Roger that Lieutenant, Runway is clear. Ground crews are in the green and the ship has achieved landing speed, call the ball."

"Roger, coming in for the attempt."

Robbins lined his plane with the aft of the ship. This was the hardest part of any mission, landing on a moving runway as it bounced up and down and swayed left to right on the also moving ocean. It made it even worse at night, where the pilot had to be dammed sure he lined up with that ship and came in right on the "ball". Too slow and he could stall and slam into the back side of the ship. Too fast, and he could over shoot the arresting cable and crash into the deck of the ship, but you also had to gun it when you hit the deck in case you missed and had to come around again, all of this in the near black inkiness of the night. Robbins however, was not going to miss…at least not on purpose.

Robbins lined the noise of his plane up with the lights of the ship as he grew closer to the deck. At about fifty yards, he pitched the noise up and lowered his flaps, creating a larger air flow under the plane, helping him glide in to the target. Lastly, he flipped a switch and the hook that was attached to the rear of his plane lowered to grab hold of one of the retention cable stretched out over the deck. He held his breath as he came in low just nipping the tail of his plane with the deck, the hook caught the second of three cables lined over the deck and brought the plane to a heavy and bumpy halt.

Once on the deck, he let out the breath he had taken in suspense and throttled down the loud roaring engine. He pulled down the black goggles on his face and opened the canopy, exposing himself to the wind and the wash from the waves crashing against the side of the ship. The cold Atlantic spray felt refreshing against his hot, sweaty skin. He stood up and exited the cockpit and stood on the right wing of this plane, looking out over the stern of the ship as it churned in the waves. When the ship dipped, it looked like a wall of water was about to crash down over the deck and sweep everything way. This changed as the ship drove up the wave. When this happened, James could see the two escorting destroyers in front of the ship heave up and down as they broke across the swells.

His attention was pulled back to the deck as he heard his name being yelled over the noise on from the idling plane. He turned to see a man dressed in what looked like a mechanics uniform jogging over to meet him. As he came closer, James could see he was holding a bag of tools and had several belts attached to his body. His large black boots made a heavy thumping sound as he approached the right wing where James was standing.

The man stopped, held up his hand and made a fist. James recognized this as the sign to shut off his engine, so he reached back into the cockpit and cut power to the plane's engine, watching the prop come to a slow spin before finally stopping altogether. With a final grunt, the beast of a machine fell silent and dead on the deck of the ship. When James turned back to the new arrival, the man put his feet together and gave James a salute.

"Welcome back Lieutenant." The man said his voice full of young enthusiasm.

James gave one back as he stepped down off the wing onto the flight deck. "Chief mechanic. It's good to see you again." He shook that man's hand as they walked back toward the hatch that leads into the inside of the ship. He stopped and turned around to watch the flight crew attach his plane to a tug cart and move it off the flight deck and onto the main elevator. The plane lurched around a tad as it was taken down into the heart of the ship by the mechanics.

The mechanic he was following stepped up behind and watched the sight from inside the hatch, seeming to him to be another part of his day. "She'll be fine sir. My men will take good care of your bird." He reassured the lieutenant with a pat on his shoulder and a cheerful smile.

"Oh, I'm not too troubled. I have the up most confidence in your skilled crew, Chief. They're the best damn flight crew in the navy from what I've seen" He complimented him with a light laugh. The head mechanic nodded and moved ahead through the maze that was the inside of the ship. James was right behind him, stepping over a floor mantle that was popped up and sidestepping past a few young sailors that walked by.

"I thank you for the words sir; we know how special that plane is too you so we'll do our up most to give it the most attention that we can without making you look like the favorite son." He joked as he ascended a flight of gray metal stairs toward the bridge with James close behind. They moved past a pair of service men that saluted both the James and the chief as they walked by.

"I see, thank you. That Hellcat is all I have left from my last deployment. I feel that more of my life was spent in a flying metal box in the past few years then I can remember before the war" He said with a sting of sorrow as they entered the bridge proper. They stood at the door and looked inside, waiting for the captain to finish talking to one of the young officers that worked on the bridge. When he was done, he turned to see the two men standing at the door and asked them to come in. They both did and stood before the captain at attention

"First Lieutenant James Robbins reporting as requested sir!" He said as officially as he could before his commanding officer. The chief did the same, ambit a little less formal. Under the lights, James could see that the head mechanic had grease stains on both his hands and face that darkened his skin from the pasty white that it was normally. He could also see splotches of what appears to be oil and cooling fluid on his shirt and pants. The sight was not uncommon among the crew that serviced the aircraft, even more so when they were repairing planes riddled with blast holes from Neuroi combatants.

"At ease men" the captain ordered, his hand waving away the formal situation. He spoke with both age and authority when he addressed his men. His white captain's uniform was nearly spotless. His different badges and awards hung neatly on his chest right next to the black outline of the captain's jacket where the buttons resided. He wore his cap, which had the emblem of the United Sates of Liberion navy. His rank was neatly pinned on the collar of the uniform. You could tell how much it was polished by the way it shone in the light of the bridge, almost blinding the airman when the captain turned and stood at a certain angle.

Captain Jefferson turned to the mechanic and nodded. "Thank you for bringing the Lieutenant up here as fast as you did chief. With that finished, I want you to head back down to the hanger and begin prepping the Lieutenants plane for combat. We need him at top fighting condition when the time arises. Dismissed" The mechanic saluted, turned and nodded to James as he stepped outside and down the metal stairs, his heavy boots making loud stomps all the way down. The captain then turned to James, his tired, ageing eyes looking up and down the man in front of him. His voice switched from a loud, ordering type to a soft, almost friendly demeanor. "So son, how do you feel being aboard a ship again" The captain asked.

"To be frank sir, I don't like it. I've been based on land most of my time in the service, flying missions out of land based airfields most of the time. It's a drastic change from what I do now, taking off and landing on a moving runway bobbing up and down on the sea and moving at twenty-five to thirty knots is a challenge in and of itself." James said somewhat emotionless as he looked out the window at the churning sea off their port side.

Captain Jefferson gave a hearty laugh and slapped James on his shoulder. "It's not the first time I've heard that from a landlubber like you. I can tell you I had the same feelings about being stationed at dock for six months at Norfolk; I was about ready to tear my hair out if I had to sit through another staff meeting at that godforsaken place. The day I was told we were shipping out, I took my navigator and helmsman, kicking and screaming, out of a bar in the nearby town and dragged them all the way back to the base, all ten miles." He said as he gave another hearty laugh.

To James, it was an amusing story, if highly unlikely. It still made him crack a smile and nodded as the captain wiped his eye of a stream of tears from laughing so hard." It sounds like one hell of a story sir."

"It is, as a matter of fact". Stated Jefferson," But it's a tale for another time. What I brought you here for is too review our course to the port it Britannia. Being the lead scout, I need you to be familiar with the route we plan to take so you can scout ahead for any Neuroi. It's best if we can steer clear of them as much as we can" He stated as the two of them walked over to a table that had a large map of the Atlantic Ocean. On said map, were the major shipping lanes of all trade between Liberion and the Island nation of Britannia. There were several pencil traced lines connecting major ports in both Liberion and Britannia in different colors. The colors, which ranged from red to blue, were the danger level of that particular lane. For example, the major trade lane known as "White blossom" which traveled from the industrial naval yard in Boston, Massachusetts through the Atlantic taking a northern route up near glacier land and into the North Sea ending at a shipyard in Britannina near Eastchester was colored red, meaning Neuroi raids were numerous and the route should only be taken if necessary. The convoys that traveled this route usually had Heavy cruiser class support and hundreds of smaller ships that included both the convoy supply ships and combat ships.

The route Captain Jefferson's convoy was traveling on was named "_The Golden Trail_". While not as treacherous as the "White blossom" route, it was still dangerous in its own right; requiring a somewhat sizable fleet to protect the transports that undertook the path. A fleet like the one Robinson was a part of; this fleet was based out of Naval Station Norfolk in Virginia, and its path of travel took it through a tight middle path carved through the center of the Atlantic that was patrolled by the Liberion Navy form the start of the second Neuroi war. The route churned northward, passing through the Straits of Dover and ended outside of London proper at a large naval yard that was being use by both naval body's as a base to conduct operations inside contested Europe.

"As you know, over the past six months, we've lost contact with four different convoys that trekked through this region; Two of ours, and two from the Britannia royal navy." The captain used a pencil and marked where the search party's found the remains floating out on the water. Two of the marked spots where only a few nautical miles from where they were now. Robbins nodded his head, not new to the fact. He could still recall reading about the findings in the news all those months ago.

Jefferson continued, "We are currently One-hundred and thirty miles from the point you surveyed about an hour ago." He marked said spot with a green circle and drew a dotted line from where the fleet was now to the point. He stopped and looked up at the Lieutenant, making direct eye contact with him. "According to your findings, we've yet to make contact with any Neuroi, which would normally be a good thing. However, I've yet to give any type of all clear. I don't believe we're alone out here and I've yet to be convinced of such. We're just far enough from the coast that we're somewhat safe, but close enough that I'm not sleeping well at night" The captain took a cup of what appeared to be coffee and took a quick sip before setting it down. "I don't like it one bit."

Lieutenant Robbins nodded at the captain before looking back down at the map. He wiped his forehead of the drops of sweat from the sudden attention from the captain. "Sir, I'll stand by what I've seen, and that's basically nothing. I flew around the set coordinates for almost two hours and found nothing but open sky and water. Furthermore, we know that the Neuroi don't make strikes this far out in open water. For whatever reason that is, I think we're safe for the time being." He looked down put his hands down onto the map and tapped a pencil on the spot where the fleet was currently, thinking about something that had just crossed his mind. "Sir, I have a question."

"Shoot." Said Jefferson.

Robbins nodded and pointed at the circles drawn on the map. "I've never read the official reports, but I have read the news clipping about the mysterious attacks on those ships you mentioned earlier. How we lost near six hundred ships, Two hundred from us and four hundred from the Britannia Navy, in half a year in these attacks on the shipping routes. The attacks themselves were out of the blue and rapid, leaving no survivors and little to no wreckage in their wake, correct?" He asked.

"Yes, we've been over this before. What's your point?"

"That's just it. How are they attacking us?" the Lieutenant pointed to the area where the last attack occurred. That fleet belonged to Britannia had started their journey from a port just outside of London. Their destination: New York military harbor. Everyone knows they never made it and their remains were found three hundred miles out to sea, but that's what was puzzling to James. "How can the Neuroi attack us? It's well known that they don't move their forces out over open bodies of water. If they had, Britannia would have fallen years ago. For some reason, water and blood thirsty genocidal aliens don't mix and that's what's saved Britannia …for the most part." He added at the end

Jefforson nodded and took another sip of his coffee, eyeing the nation in question on the map laid out in front of him. "Yes, every now and then we get a brave one that tries to make it out over that small stretch of water in the straights, before getting the living crap kicked out of it by that group of witches based out of Mont ST-Michel."

James Taped a pencil against the map, looking at the now talked about area just off the coast of Gallia, situated on a small outcropping of land in Normandy. The base was the best spot to protect both the island of Britannia and the little amount of Gallia that had been retaken.

"I've heard about this place before. That group of witches, they're based out of that airbase in Galia?" James asked while looking up at the captain.

"Yep" He said in response "From what I've been reading and picking up in conversation, some of the best witches we have from all over the allied countries in this war are stationed there. I think even one from Liberion made it into their fold as well. They're supposed to be the best witches we have, meaning we've put a lot of our eggs in the same basket in the hopes of saving Britannia and hopefully one day freeing Galia." Jefferson scuffed at the thought rubbed one of his eyes with a free hand

The Lieutenant caught that last part after his explanation. "Sir, I'm not entirely sure your convinced about that last part." James rolled the pencil in between his fingers in thought as the captain placed his cup on the table.

"Your Damn right I'm not." He stated bluntly. "I don't care how good these witches are, their still young girls for crying out loud. How do you expect a small group of girls to keep out the greatest threat to humanity that we've faced than ever before? Not to discredit them for their efforts but…" The captain paused, looking out through the window to his left side at the bright moon that hung in the dark night, the light from which he could see what looked like clear blue waters that the fleet was moving through. It also lit up his face, allowing James to see the distraught gloom on the old man's features

James looked over as well, but only slightly paying attention to the white orb in the sky. He was caught up in what the captain had said about these young women and the tremendous job that had to perform in both protecting what little ground they had left and trying to take back what they had lost. It must be devastatingly stressful to have that much weight on your back.

He looked back at the captain, who now had a lit cigarette in between his lips. He was taking slow, deliberate puffs and blowing the smoke out into the air. James could tell he was waiting for him to say what he knew was coming, so he did.

"From what it sounds like, they have the talent to pull of such a crazy mission. They might be what we need as a bit of help in the morale department" James stated, with a hint of hope in his voice. The old captain crushed that spark however.

"Indeed. However, Most of them are still kids, and being the top aces or what have you in the war means very little when all that I think about when I talk or read about them is the picture of my youngest daughter. I would quit the navy tomorrow before I would see my young girl fighting like that." He looked over at James and then at the table, "It hurts to know that I already have a daughter fighting like that. I could never live with myself If she got hurt."

Before James could ask about his daughters, the captain stood up from his chair and put out his cigarette. He then rolled the map they had been analyzing for what turned out to be three hours and placed in under the table in a stack of other maps and documents. He turned to James, re-adjusted his coat and spoke to him.

"Alright, we've been at this for a while now and it's getting late. I want you tucked away and asleep for your shift in the early hours. The closer we get to the land, the more likely we're going to be meeting the boogie man and I don't want a tuckered out airman fighting the bloody devil." He raised his hand in a salute. "I'll see you at 0700, Lieutenant"

"Sir" James said as returned the gesture and walked out of the bridge, down the metal stairs and back into the twisting metal heart of the large ship.

On his way through the decks back to his assigned room, James was thinking about his conversation with the captain. He had only been on the ship for about four weeks, and has known the captain for far less time, only being introduced to him about three days before he was assigned to the fleet. It wasn't uncommon for pilots from different squadrons to be shifted around where they were needed, it happened all the time. What was strange was the way he was being tossed around like a baseball. About three months ago, back when he was flying with his original group, he was told he was to be transferred back stateside to fly trainers for newly enlisted men. He was fine with his new assignment for it would get him away from the action for a little while.

He passed by a group of sailors he knew that waved and greeted him as he walked past, breaking his train of thought. He greeted both and continued through the passage and down another set of steps deeper into the vessel. He arrived at his room and knocked on the door. He waited before he pushed the door open to see the room was empty, save for the belongings of both him and his roommate who must have left earlier as the room was dark. He flicked on the small light that hung in the middle of the room, closed the door and then proceeded to remove the heavy jacket, gloves and boots that he was wearing.

As he did so, he remembered what he was thinking about and sat down on his bunk to think about the strange set of events. About a month after he returned stateside and three weeks before he was to start his new job, he received another set of orders to report to the Norfolk naval facility for re-assignment on a carrier task force in the Atlantic fleet. It was four days following that letter when he had arrived that he was told he had been assigned to fly heavy recon/air intercept for the task force that was moving a rather large amount of supply's to Britannia. He asked the Admiral, one George Trent, why he was being assigned a ship based duty when he was only trained to fly ground based flights. It was only during his last deployment that he had any training on carrier based take off and landing, and that was only for four months before this dance began. Anyway ,he was stonewalled, saying that other than what details he was already given, it was on a need to know basis…and guess what…he didn't need to know.

"_I love when the military plays with the strings of my life without telling me about it"_

He placed his gloves and Jacket on the metal table in the room and placed his boots under his bunk, the bottom one of two, and rubbed his eyes. He looked over and gazed at his reflection in a nearby mirror. His blue eyes looked back at him with a worn stare that made him look twenty years older than he was. His light brown hair, which was trimmed down to military standards, had grown a bit tall. Not enough to cause an issue, but he may soon need to visit the ships barber to get a trim. He ran his hand over his cheeks and jaw line, noticing the few scrapes and cuts along the way. All memory's from the past. Things he wants to forget, but can't escape. For being twenty, he looked much older then he really was. He **Felt** older then he really was.

James sighed and fell onto his bunk both mentally and physically drained from a full day in the air. He thought about getting some midnight chow, but then remembered the ships mess closed an hour ago. He dammed his luck, sighting the fact of spending over three hours in debrief that really only need fifteen minutes. James found it rather odd why the captain of the ship was spending so much time talking to him. He put more effort in having an open dialect with this no-named pilot that would only be on board until they reached the next naval base over his own crew who he's served with for over three years.

He yawned and found himself getting even more tired. He glanced up and noted the time to be about one in the morning. He sat up and reached up at the light switch and flicked it, casting the room once again in a dark shadow. He lay back again and cracked his neck, felling his tired body grow relaxed. He looked behind him out the small porthole in the room. The bright white moon hung in stark contrast to the dark night sky behind it; the stars placed like pin-pricked holes were also visible. He felt his eyelids grow heavy and he rolled back over and let them close and accept the gentle grasp of sleep. The last thought slipping out his mind;

"_Will I live to see it again?"_

(**Once again, I need to thank you for looking at my story, please leave some reviews, notes, comments and such for me to look over so I can improve my story. I will try to update it as much as I can, Thank you TM227)**


	2. Action Stations!

**Date: July 10, 1944  
Time: 0600  
Location: 150 Km from coast of Galia  
Mission: Escort Shipment of Wartime Supply's  
**

For being a ship at sea, and a large warship at that, it was rather calm and peaceful far down below decks. You could hear the occasional footsteps of a sailor walking by on his way to his post or down to the mess hall to get another cup of what was probably yesterday's coffee. At random times, you might hear the sound of the ship creaking as it moves through the large body of water that is the Atlantic, swaying gently from one side to the other in the current. When a rather large wave sloshes against the side, you can feel the hall being pushed inward just slightly before flexing back against the aggressive sea. Add that with the fact that this type of ship housed many different compartments and rooms along with a sizable housing complex for enlisted and non-commissioned men, it really felt like you were living in a small floating city.

That was not an understatement by any means. Not to anyone that lives and works on a capital ship like this. It really was like taking a small town or city with you and putting it out to sea. The main job of the Standard Carrier was to act like a floating runway: Send out attacks against both land and sea based targets as well as provided protective cover for the fleet that was attached to the ship. It also provides the fleet commander, in this case Captain Jefferson, a mobile HQ of sorts to better ascertain a situation as it happened and to respond in kind.

It wasn't just housing for people and a stable command base for their captain that the ship provided, standard carrier _Yorktown _also had ample space for both supply's and weapons. This ship carried around ninety to one hundred aircraft as standard armament. This included SBD dauntless dive bombers, both hellcat and wild cat fighter interceptors and TPY Sea Wolf torpedo planes. The later where shelved for more dive-bombers and interceptors because the Neuroi rarely had anything to do with maritime combat; so the navy decided to use the space for something more useful. The ship stored these planes in its massive hangers along with all the fuel and ammo they could need. In a way, this made the ship into rather large powder keg, waiting to go off; but that's just depressing to think about.

Which was why Lieutenant James doesn't think about it; rather he hadn't thought about much for the past hour he's been awake. There was still some time left to burn until he actually had to leave his room and meet up with the captain to plan the rest of the day's patrol routes. James glanced over at the clock slowly ticking away on the wall and noted it was around 6:30 in the morning. He had some time before he had to leave. He decided he should get ready now and not waste time staring up at the metal ceiling like he had been.

He rolled out of bed, took hold of a clean shirt and pants located behind him on his bed and changed. As he pulled off his old shirt, he found himself looking at a large scar that ran from about chest level on his right side and ran up to about his neck. This was a reminder of what's happened to him over the last four years. Remembering he's needed somewhere, he forgets about the scar and places his new shirt on along with his pants. He laced up his boots and placed his flight jacket over his shoulder and made his way for the door, deciding that a shower would have to be postponed.

He stopped, glancing back into the room and noticed his roommate's arrangement next to him. He was a lot messier then James was, but that's only because James didn't have as much "clutter" as he called it scattered around on the floor. Rather, he had nothing to really call his own. His bunk was almost devoid of any personal effects, just what he needed to make due. He then remembered his sidearm that was lying near the door on a table. He took hold of it and placed it in its belt holster, making sure the magazine was loaded and the safety was on.

He took one last look, longer then he normally would which actually caught him off-guard. He chalked it to not getting enough sleep again and flicked the light off to the room. He then turned and walked away over to the first set of stairs he would need to climb. That's when he noticed something off. He stopped himself and glanced back over his shoulder back at the room he just left but found nothing out of place. However, he couldn't shake this feeling in is stomach that had arisen, It felt like it was the last time he would see that room again.

Suddenly the 0700 alarm sounded, signaling the change of watch and the start of the official morning to the day crew. He was now late for his meeting and pushed that feeling out of his mind and made his way up the flight of stairs. Up and up he went, climbing deck after deck and down corridor after corridor. You can really work up a sweat just moving from one end of the ship to the other.

He finally reached the bridge and was nearly out of breath stepping through the doorway. He noticed the captain standing over the communications officer, having one ear free paying some attention to the officer with the other pressed into a headset. Not wanting to interrupt, James stood at attention just inside the bridge and waited.

After about five minutes, the captain spoke: "Was that the last transmission sent by our recon?" he asked

The officer nodded, "Aye sir. That was about nine minutes ago during the check in at Bravo Three. Since then, I have gotten nothing but static from him. It could be an equipment malfunction or some type of interference with the weather?"

Captain Jefferson looked out through the bridge windows at the morning sky. It was still rather early; the sun had just arisen from its home under the horizon. However, it was still rather dark, even for it being as early as it was. It looked like a storm had blown in during the night. The sky now looked like a solid gray celling, all even and uniform. The only way anyone could tell the sun had arisen was from the whiter look the celling had: a pale yellowish-red stain that glowed colored the sky imminently around the line that marked the horizon.

Aggressively tapping a pencil, he shook his head. "This isn't right. Not in the slightest. He's well within the distance need to make contact by radio…and even if he couldn't he should damn well be able to be picked up by radar". He turned and looked at his radar operator, "Am I right?" he asked.

The man in question nodded. "Aye sir. I can pick up just about anything for a few miles around us in any direction. I've swept that area three or four times. There's nothing there, and the weather's not bad enough to affect my equipment."

This is when Jefferson noticed James standing there behind him. He waved James over and spoke to him in a tight tone. "Now, I want to get something understood here. Our com units in our planes work and have been working for at least the past few days correct?" James nodded. The captain continued, "So, this means that our flight crews are trained and ready to fix such a valuable piece of gear if it breaks, because if this was common issue that we had to deal with, I could write it off as such, correct?"

Again, James along with the rest of the bridge crew nodded. Many of them could already see where this was head. "So does this mean there could be something wrong with the radar gear?" he asked

"It's always a possibility." stated said operator, "But if that was the case, then I wouldn't be detecting our whole fleet along with the flight that's nearest to us. I shouldn't get any picture at all if there was a malfunction."

Jefferson slammed his hands down onto the radio interface with a heavy amount of force. "Then tell me WHY I can't find my plane on my radar!" He exclaimed. The crew jumped just about in unison when the captain roared like that. You could see the veins nearly explode out of his forehead and the intense emotions he was displaying could be felt in air around him.

Just when James was about to speak, the same man that was apparently causing the captain so much anger suddenly took hold of his head gear and paid a lot more attention than he was just a moment ago. The radar crewman glanced back at the screen a few more time checking some dials and switches on the panel. He picked up some paper that was lying next to him and glanced back at the screen one last time.

"Sir" he said with a tone of caution. "We've got a radar contact directly to our front, just about where this pilot should be."

"Isn't that a good thing" Jefferson said as he leaned over the man's shoulder, watching the lines on the screen move back and forth with the one that represented the beam of concentrated radiation bubbling around the ship move around in the center.

"Normally yes, but…well you should look at this"

He placed the paper in front of the captain and then the readings from what he was getting now on another sheet of paper. Jefferson looked at both for a few seconds and that back at his man. "Are you sure about this?"

He nodded at then taped a pencil on the screen. "This is dead on for what that says"

Jefferson waited for a short bit before moving quickly between some of the bridge crew and back to radar operator. Shaking his head and cussing under his breath he turned back to James with a concerned look on his face.

Before he could say what was on his mind, there was a large, thunderous crack that rolled through the air outside the ship. The shockwave rattled the windows and cups in the bridge, made some of the crew crouch down in reaction to both instinct and training. Both Jefferson and James grabbed hold of whatever solid object was near them. Those that weren't belted in ran over to the windows to see what had caused that massive boom

James looked out through the front of the bridge with some of the crew while the rest pressed themselves out the side portholes and the small window's on the side's of the bridge. Most were looking out the combined group of Warships and military transports encircling the Carrier in all directions. So far, nothing looked out of place. No smoke, no debris, nothing. James could see the crews of other ships doing just what he was doing; only they were looking above. That's when James looked up and saw it.

His body froze, his hands griping the hand hold next to him and his heavy leather boots feeling clunky. Above him was a small speck, or from his point of view was a speck. It was growing at a rapid pace and even from this distance he could tell what it was with his sharp eyes and experience. His fear soon multiplied as the speck grew in number. The black specks stood out against the backdrop of the overcast morning sky. He could definitely tell something was moving around above him.

At first there were one, then two, and finally four in total coming down upon the ship from nearly a vertical angle. James looked to his side at the Captain, who mouth agape looked on in silent horror at what was befalling them from above. James looked back just as the objects were now within viewing distance of the ship.

There were a few seconds, seconds that seemed to last for minutes, as the craft seem to float motionless in front of him. In reality they were baring down upon him like a pack of wolfs onto an injured deer. The craft dropped altitude fast and skimmed over the water still racing toward the fleet, the lead member seeming to aim itself right at the bridge of the ship.

The lead craft closed the distance, appearing to move like a phantom over the water. Suddenly it was right in front of the ship. The craft was dart shaped, having a long, black and slender body pierced by small black fins around the center of the craft. At the end seemed to be a spiked tail glowing red with bright color. The crafts body also pulsed with cracks and lines of blood red color erupting and pulsing from one end to the other.

James didn't get much more time to study the finer details as time seemed to return to a normal pace, the craft blasting past with an ear ringing roar, rushing over the deck of the ship before dashing back up into the sky at an impossible speed. Just as he was turning to advise crew, a bright red flash seemed to pulse from the front end of one of the following craft and smashed into the bow of the ship.

It didn't seem to do any damage. Just a small pock mark of red color etched into the ship. James knew better and grabbed hold of the men around him and pushed them down below the window. Almost right after he moved, a loud explosion rocked the ship sending those that hadn't braced themselves falling backwards from the explosion. Bits of wood, metal and glass rained down onto the bridge with a rather large chunk of metal smashing through the adjacent window and slamming down onto the floor.

Several seconds passed as the remaining craft stormed over just as the first had before spinning off in all directions. James was already on his feet, looking at the men around him for anyone injured. He noticed the captain hadn't moved from his spot during the entire ordeal, that same blank expression of shock and disbelieve on his face. That expression changed from stunned confusion to bitter rage in a matter of seconds.

"What the hell are you doing" He shouted. "We're under attack; get your asses in motion!"

An alarm soon rang out sounding battle stations. From outside, James could hear the same alarm sounding from all the surrounding ships, the crews of those vessels scrambling to man the guns and fight back against the attackers.

"Lieutenant, that means you too." Jefferson said, placing his hat that had been blown off back onto his head. "Get yourself into the air with the rest of the first flight. I'll order our guns to give you as much cover as they can while you takeoff; don't expect not to get shot"

Before James could leave the captain added his voice somewhat low, "I know how you like to fight. Remember to work with the rest of the flight out there…and bring down those Neuroi scum."

James smiled and saluted before racing down the steps back down into the ship. Around him the chaos of battle had begun; men from all over the ship were racing around moving gear and getting themselves into their battle stations. James gave that little mind, he was thinking about what Jefferson had said. He was one of the few people who knew his past. That was more than evident by the comment he gave him. He pushed away any other thoughts in his mind and continued moving down the corridor. Passing crew on both sides of him, he made is way father down the ship until he reached the main hatch that would bring him into the flight hanger.

At the hatch the ship shuttered again, almost bringing him down to his feet. The lights above him flickered; the ship's intercom streamed a steady alarm with an intermittent voice yelling: "All hands to Action Stations. Repeat all hands to Action Stations." He made his way into the hanger proper. The ghastly mixture of Oil and high octane aircraft fuel smashing into him at once, mixing together into an aroma that would stain both ones cloths and noise for days. The hanger was in a state of controlled panic. The airman, their aircraft and the mechanics were scrambling around to and fro moving planes, parts and people from one corner of the deck to the other in a state that one could describe as "hectic". There were parts of one aircraft laden in a certain section while its guns were busy being oiled and cleaned on some makeshift stands at another section. James noticed that an entire wing from a SBD dive bomber was missing and the front armor plates were absent from the front of another hellcat fighter.

James took notice to step over an oil spill as he proceeded to find his craft. He hoped his Hellcat wasn't in as bad as a shape as some of the others lying about; it would be a particular issue if it was. He moved passed another set of half-assembled planes when he spotted the man of the hour. The chief mechanic was in the middle of directing a few of his subordinates with moving a set of Hellcats out onto the elevator to bring them up to the flight deck. He weaved around some of the other men and ended up behind the mechanic as he was finishing up directing some of his crew.

"…I don't care what you have to push outa the way, move the damn plane onto the lift. If you need help, pull some of the others off cleaning and do it. I'd rather not have to swim the rest of the way to Europe!"

The man saluted and ran off to help the others. Just as he turned around, he noticed James and saluted to him. "Aye Sir, quite a shit storm we have here." He stated with a mild bit of wit.

"Well, I'd hate to agree with you, and I don't like to, but you could possibly be correct." James said with a bit of a grin.

This also brought a grin to the Chief mechanic, "Past me being right, I'll query the thought and say that you're for a rather good reason." He turned and pointed off to his right at the elevator.

James peered over and saw It. His Aircraft was being moved from its parking spot over to the lift by a few of the wrench hands and a cart. "I see you took good care of her ha?"

"Well of course!" The mechanic said as he slapped James on the back, leaving a rather dark black mark where his hand was. "We can't have one of our best boys siting on by while the war happens around him right"

James could feel the black tar seep onto his back through his jacket and shirt. He glared back at the man, "You're always one step ahead of me Eric, aren't you."

The man in question let out a hardy laugh, "Well, someone has to be. If not, then you'd be stuck here with the rest of us, sitting ducks in a big old metal barrel."

The two men, along with the group of deck hands, walked over to the lift just as James's plane was parked and the lift was started. Slowly, the group was brought up from the lower deck onto the proper flight deck, the lift grinding and creaking the entire way up. As the flight deck rose to meet them, the group of men could hear and feel the ships gun battery's blazing away at the aliens flying above. Large amounts of black smoke and red/yellow tracer fire poured out into the sky along with some small arms fire provided by a few of the stationed marines on the deck, firing off small bursts from Thomson sub machine guns and the steady repeated strings of shots from M1 Carbine rifles.

On the heaver side of the fire was the orchestral chatter of eight quadruple 40mm guns, an array of 24 20mm Oerlikon cannons spewing forth hell fire and on top of that, four 127mm main guns, which where the main armament of many destroyers, blasting away with anti-aircraft shells ripping through the air above the ship. Altogether, this ship alone posed a major threat to anything flying nearby. The Neuroi must have come to the same conclusion as they had stared to attack the other ships in the fleet, mainly the transports and smaller destroyers

As James stood and watched the gunners of the ship spew forth hell, he looked out on the fleet and felt his chest clamp up. The Neuroi had done in a short span of time a sizable amount of damage. James could see towering plumes of black smoke rising from the water around him. He could make out a ship, a destroyer by the look of it, was on fire from stem to stern, the crew bravely fighting the fire as it swept over the ship. Others weren't so lucky, as he went from one ship to another, he spotted what looked like a Liberty transport start to keel over. The entire ship was ablaze, the crew was jumping from the ship, some even on fire themselves as the ship started to turn over. The ship had turned over onto its side when a massive explosion ripped through the hall of the transport. The blast sent man and cargo flying through the air. The blast was so strong that it had split the ship damn near in half, with the front section sinking right after the explosion. Two friendly destroyers turned at high speed and maneuvered to try and help the remaining crew afloat in the sea.

It was appalling to say the least. James looked up and saw the aggressors flying above him, turning and diving on the ships, red beams of death smashing down onto the ships below and tearing apart man's attempt at war with the ease of hot knife cuts through butter. He felt helpless, like so many times before, in the face of the alien invaders slaying his countrymen like cattle. He felt the wave of heat and pressure wash over him as one of the craft flew over the deck of the ship and pulled an impossible loop before descending down onto its victim: a single destroyer. In a flash, a crimson beam tore through the ship, cutting the vessel in half with a massive explosion before zooming back over head into the sky. He watched the craft zoom by before returning his gaze back to the victim. The once proud ship, which he remembered as the _McGowan,_ a Fletcher-class destroyer, had been split in half, the only remaining part being the aft which was slowly slipping below the waves. In a short while, only a dark oil slick was left, not even a single body could be seen.

A hard slap to his shoulder had brought James back from his dream like state. Eric, the Chief mechanic, was now standing in front of him, yelling at him over the gunfire and explosions. "Wake up sir, now's no time to be watching the show. We need your to get up there and help." He pushed James over to the waiting plane. James noticed that there was now a small line of craft behind his plane with more being brought up from below deck. There was about seven craft at the moment, all Navy Hellcats like his, with the pilots getting their planes ready. James couldn't stop a smile from forming. They could do this, he thought, there's a chance to change this from a rout to something like a victory.

Eric chimed in,"Your plane's all fueled up and fit to fly. Guns loaded, Prop cleaned and wings trimmed. All that's left is you" He stood back and saluted. "Good hunting Sir." He walked over and spun the propeller of James's plane while another crewman started the engine. With a puff of smoke and low rumble, the plane was brought to life. The prop spun faster and faster and the whole craft seemed to rumble with life. James walked over to the cockpit, stepping onto the lower bit of the wing he swung himself into the small metal seat inside. Once in place, he closed the canopy, slung his parachute onto his back and placed his leather flight cap onto his head.

Looking out his canopy, He gave thumbs up to the flight officer of to the side of his plane. The officer gave him the sign that James was waiting for: Clearance for takeoff. James wasted no more time, He throttled his plane to full power; The Pratt &amp; Whitney R-2800 radial engine roaring to life as the plane picked up speed. He was moving past the bridge of the ship when he looked up and saw an odd sight. Jefferson, the same man who was just moments ago shouting orders and raising hell, was saluting him from one of the metal nests on the side of the bridge. His face was static, but James could feel something warming and encouraging coming from him without him saying anything.

"Kill those bastards…and stay alive"

James flashed thumbs up at him as he roared past. He turned back just as he cleared the tower and what he saw caused him to panic. Flying directly at him was one of those alien invaders. The red maw, which looked blood red, was glowing and the craft itself was steadily growing closer. He only had a matter of seconds to decide what to do. His air speed wasn't high enough to allow him any mistake; one wrong move and he would stall out and crash into the wake bellow. He also didn't have much speed to try and evade the oncoming fire; he was stuck where he was. He had only one choice to make. Fight.

He cleared the flight deck and was now airborne. He had a little more room now to do some drastic flying but didn't have the speed. The Neruoi wasn't more than 400 meters from his craft, coming down on top of him at steep angle and coming in fast. James could see some tracers from the deck guns of the Yorktown that were doing their best to try and cover him. He knew however, that because of where he was, they couldn't shoot in fear of hitting him. So, he though, he would have to do this himself. Throwing the plane into over charger pushed the engine for all it was worth. The space between him and the alien closed dramatically with both craft racing at each other. James knew he could only tax the engine so much before it would overheat, and he was only a few hundred feet above the water.

As he looked up, he saw the alien craft's weapon begin to glow deep red. James could feel sweat pooling on his face, knowing what he was flying was more or less a cardboard box compared to what he was about to fight. The monster grew larger and larger, the red menacing maw of death seeming to envelop the sky and sea in front of it. In the face of death, James flew on. They were now within 200 meters from each other. James moved his fingers over the trigger, his hands wrapping tighter around the flight stick. He was ready.

The alien craft made the first move. In a second, the craft opened fire with a large blast. The large beam swiped over his left wing, nearly hitting it, and smashed into the water only a few meters behind him.

The blast caused a massive stream of water to rise up like a tower with a thin mist enveloping It. James noticed that he was only 100 meters from the craft, so he acted. Pulling back on the stick and jamming the stabilizers, he pointed the nose of his craft at his attacker and depressed the trigger. The center of his wings seemed to roar as six 12.7mm (50cal) heavy machine guns spewed forth a reply to the aliens challenge. The entire plane shook as streams of lead raced out and smashed against the tough alien hide.

The first burst seemed to do little damage; sparks from the bullets impacting the craft's armor glowed around the underside and "gun" port of the craft and only seemed to make it angrier. It wasn't until the second burst impacted that a result could be seen. Like before, sparks where the major result, until a bright flash and then explosion erupted from the front of the craft with a plume of black smoke soon after. Suddenly, the craft jerked away from its course and flew past the small fighter, sailing by with that same static sound as before, and right into the gun sights of the Yorktown.

The gunners quickly chewed into the craft, with every gun that was pointed in that direction pouring everything and more into that invader. The Neruoi tried to save itself; it pitched upwards trying in vain to gain altitude and run from the hailstorm it was enduring, But to little avail. A number of high caliber explosive shells slammed into it, ripping apart its structure while the machine guns kept it from regenerating too much of itself back. In one final aggressive move, the Neruoi dropped down upon the Yorktown in a final, desperate attempt to take the humans with it. The mighty _Yorktown_ stood its ground, blasting the craft with an ungodly amount of firepower while more of its fighter craft left the deck to join the fight. With one final blast, the Neruoi craft rolled over into an uncontrollable tumble and crashed into the water right of the stern of the ship and died with a mighty explosion. A mixture of red material and blue water was thrown into the air, shards of its former shelf raining down onto the deck like bloody snowflakes as the torrent of water splashed back down into the ocean.

James saw the whole thing as he climbed higher into the air with the rest of the flight behind him. Over the radio, he could hear the cry's and cheers of his fellow pilots as they watched the alien craft die in such a show of force that gave him Goosebumps. On the ship, he could also see the crew jumping to and fro with excitement at the kill they achieved. It was a small victory, James knew this, but it was a victory none the less. The small things like this really matter in a war where defeat was expected much more then victory. "Alright" he said into his radio, "remember that one had friends so don't get carried away too much. We still have a job to do."

The other's agreed and met up with James over the ship they had launched from. While he wouldn't be the leader of the flight in a normal mission, he was the most experienced one out of all the pilots on the ship making him the flight leader in this special case. Captain Jefferson made it a point to the others about how much history James really had flying missions against the Neruoi, which it turn made James somewhat of a celebrity in the fleet. James mostly played it off, saying that he learned what he knew from the best flyers the army air force had.

The sound of aircraft near him brought him out of his thoughts as the mixed group of Hellcats and F4U Corsair heavy fighters which had met up with James's flight from their patrol points outside the battle space formed up to fight off the Neruoi aggressors. A flash drew his eyes as the two other Neruoi aircraft ripped through the air from below him and sped ahead in formation. He knew what they were about to do.

"Heads up" he spoke "looks like they want to play after all. I'm expecting a head on pass with them. That's nose to nose fellows. This is our best shot during this whole fight. I want short, controlled burst when there… 5,000 yards ahead." He tried to guess where the most of the fire from his craft would converge and have the bet possibility to hit something. "Those cannons are our best bet in a killing blow. Corsairs, form a wing in front of us as tight as you can to maximize your firepower. Aim at the closest target first, we'll chase the other when it peels off."

The leader of the Corsair flight agreed over the radio and had his flight form up in front of James's Hellcats. There were only six total Corsair heavy fighters he had to work with, but they had 4 20mm AN/M2 cannons along with 6 12.7mm machine guns making them flying arsenals of death. Even against the weird armor of the Neuoi they were devastatingly effective and James planed on used them as his key to winning this fight. In total, there were about 20 human aircraft to fight two Neuoi. James had reinforcements that could be used from the _Yorktown_, but the flight deck on the ship was on fire and damaged to the point that he could not count on them anytime soon. The Neuoi were also at a loss, out of the total of four craft that been attacking the fleet, two were shot down: one from the early close call with James, the other had been struck by the main guns of a Cleveland class cruiser and destroyed. So now, he only had two blood thirsty, genocidal aliens to deal with. Great!

It was now when he noticed the flash again of the alien craft to his front. They had indeed done what he feared and had turned around and were now heading directly at him. The airmen could be heard speaking back and forth with one another about the oncoming fight. One vocal man was Private First Class Leroy Hellman, a man James had met on the ship during the first few weeks of the trip. He was among one of the younger of the ships fighter pilots, having only fought the Neuoi once before and had recently been under the supervision of James himself during some training missions a few days ago.

"Hey Lieutenant" Leroy asked, his voice unsteady "this is going work right. I mean, we outnumber them but..."

'I know." James responded "this is usually how it is: We out number them hundred to one and they still kill half. The difference here is we are about even with the aid of the 20mm's. The only issue is, after the head on pass, we'll be sitting ducks. That's why we're going to peel of and intercept them after the first pass."

"Why does it sound so easy when you say it?" Leroy lamented.

Suddenly, a bright red beam tore through the air and over the heads of the aviators. James knew what this was but the men around him were still wondering themselves. The hellcats were too close together, James ordered them to space themselves just as another beam crashed through the center and split a hellcat in half. The fiery explosion destroyed the aircraft and the man inside, with what remained of the plane spiraling down into the water below.

"Keep your heads together!" James shouted. He could tell the men we now even more phased as they watched one of their own blown apart right in front of them. "These are ranging shots. They just got lucky, hold it together. We need to close within 5,000 yards to make the most out of our shots."

He could tell it wasn't working. Many of the planes were now out of formation, either to close or too far apart. The men were stressed, most were too green to be any use. He knew this couldn't last much longer. He moved himself up closer to the flight of Heavy attack craft just as the aliens had reached the farthest reach of his guns.

"Here we go, get ready for the signal!" James's said as he checked his guns. The chatter on the radio died and now everything was silent save for the sounds of the engines and the prop wash from other planes nearby. A twisting feeling was growing in the pit of his stomach, a feeling he got when he knew when a decisive battle was about to take place.

The Leader of the Corsair flight was reading out the distance to the target, "12,000…11,000…10,000." He was counting off every major change in distance. The head aircraft used his gun sights and experience to tell how far away the craft where from the group.

Another death ray blast flew at the group and nearly hit James. The beam cut right over his right wing, melting some of the metal on the front near the guns. He hoped they still worked because he was going to need them very soon.

The distance closed fast between the two forces. Every now and then, a black cloud of flack would erupt near the alien craft, but it was often too far away to matter. The gunners from the ships below must have been trying to help but they were afraid of striking their own guys. After a while it stopped altogether and the airmen were on their own. The men on the ships below watched as all hell was about to break lose over their heads.

The count grew closer: "8,000…7,000...6,500."

James was shaking, not from fright, but the total rush of adrenaline he was feeling. He'd long forgot was fear was. Every mission was life or death and now he had the lives of others along with his own to worry about. He was going to make those alien bastards pay for today… for the whole war. He wanted nothing to do with any of this bloodshed. Nevertheless, he not going to let down his brothers.

"5,000"

"Now!" he commanded.

The space directly in front of him suddenly was ablaze. The heavy cannons of the corsairs screamed. James could see the wings of the aircraft shake and rattle as the heavy caliber weapons sang their song of death and destruction. The shells themselves look like small, yellow spheres from tracer rounds mixed into the belts.

James looked past the aircraft and saw his plan was working. The Neroi had broken formation and now where flying erratically, doing their best to avoid the cannon shells. However, they were failing.

"Look at that!" One of corsair pilots yelled.

James saw it as well. The Neroi craft farthest ahead in the formation had taken several hits on the front part of the craft. Black smoke and red glass-like shards could be seen flying off like wood chips. The crafts speed looked to be suffering as it moved back and forth trying to stay alive. In a moment, another cannon shot slammed into the craft and wreaked havoc.

Suddenly, the Neroi went vertical, climbing at an incredibly fast rate, the front and right sides of the craft now smoldering in flames and black smoke. James told the flight not to worry about that craft anymore. He knew what this was. The Neroi rolled over and tried to dive down onto the front of the flight, where James and the Heavy fighter group were. A valiant effort, as it was, was short lived as the craft was consumed in flames and smoke. Without firing a shot, the craft passed through the flight harmlessly and spiraled down into the water below.

"TALLY ONE!" cried James.

The other pilots responded with joyful cheers as the invader slammed into the cold sea below. James looked back up as the other Neroi seemed to gain speed and charged straight for the frontal pack of planes. "This isn't over yet. Watch out!"

The group of corsairs broke apart just as the Neroi fired its weapon, the bream carving one of the slower planes in half and blasting the wing of another clean off. The craft flew through the carnage, turned upwards, and then dove back down into the pack, blasting apart another two fighters as in ran through the flight of human aircraft and made a run for the deck. Acting fast, James broke off with a few of the fighters and went after it.

"Let's go. The rest of you stay here and make sure this bastard stays on the deck. Corsairs, Only engage when you have the upper hand. Those that are with me try and keep up!" He could feel himself smile a bit at that remark.

James and company dove at full power trying to keep up with the black dart like craft as it went full speed toward the fleet of ships below. Almost right away, the craft was under a tremendous cannonade of flak and heavy machine gun fire as it tore over the decks of destroyers and transport ships and made its way closer to the capital ships in the center. James knew this was a last ditch move, trying to take as many humans as it could before it was shot down. James called ahead to the ship, warning them:

"CAP to Carrier: looks like their making one final stab at bringing you down. Advise full maneuvers and broadside fire"

It seemed to work, the ship was now turning hard to port and giving all available guns the best angle they could. James could see the fire spewing forth from the side of the ship, almost as if the ship itself was ablaze. A torrent of ordnance clawed at the craft; Machine gun bullets peppered the front and sides and cannon shells tore through the body of the craft, some of these almost hitting James and his crew.

"Flight brake off, you're going to get caught in the cross-fire" James commanded

The aviators obeyed, but James went on ahead and closed with the Neroi. He could hear the others protesting but he flew on; he wanted to make sure this Neroi did not get away.

"_This needs to end here and now"_

James closed distance with the Neroi, He could see the heavy fire from the ships below blast past both him and the Neroi, the tracers and shells seemed to glow orange and yellow as they exploded all around him. A few shell burst fragmented close to his craft, blasting the frame of his craft with shell fragments and even some ammo itself punching small holes in the wings and tail of his plane. James knew this was nuts, but he was determined to kill this Neroi.

The Neroi was faring far worse than James. The craft was struggling under the weight and force of the attack, shuttering every time it was struck and nearly falling out of the sky several times before righting itself and continuing. Nor was it firing its weapon, having long since fallen silent. Both James and the operator of that craft knew time was running out.

As James closed with the Neroi, He aimed his guns just in front of the craft. He knew that it would either fall out of the sky from the concentrated fire from the ships or from bursts of his own guns. What he did not know was why the Neroi was not firing its weapon. It had a chance at dozens of different ships; it could have sunk three or four by the time it was shot down. That left only one option: it was going to ram.

"Like hell you are." James clawed even closer to the craft. He was well in the range of his machine guns, however, he wanted to make sure he hit and brought it down. He squeezed off a few bursts, picking away at the rear of the craft. Small chunks of dull black glass-like material flew off in tatters, exposing the glowing red insides of the ship. He could see the craft try and repair itself, as much damage as it was receiving from the attacks both from the rear and up front, it was doing an excellent job of staying alive. James focused more fire in longer bursts to try and overwhelm the alien, running his guns in larger and larger bursts from a dwindling supply of ammo.

At once, there was a bright flash in front of the craft, then flames. The entire frontal part of the craft was now ablaze. Large, pluming black clouds rolled over the Neroi and smothered James plane. He could no longer tell what was in front of him, but he knew that the Neroi was finished. He stopped his assault and pulled up on the stick, moving his plane above and out of the smoke trail to try and witness the Neroi's final moments.

As he cleared the trail of smoke, he watched the alien craft falter and shudder in air. It was getting lower and lower to the water and also seemed to be slowing in speed. This mattered little, large towers of water signified that shells were still being rained down upon the craft. Lines of machine gun fire peppered both the craft and the water causing lines of white/blue water to be thrown up and around all over. In front, a handful of destroyer's had made their way in front of the carrier, adding their own firepower to the mix. A large wave of shells smashed into the Neroi, almost knocking it into the water by shear force alone. The craft was little more than a flaming black shadow, no longer seeming like a threat, just more of a creature that hasn't realized its dead yet. It tried one last time to strike out at the assaulting ships. Its weapon started its normal red glow, seeming to be charging to lance out one last time before it fell. It raised in altitude, aiming what was left of its gun at the Yorktown. The weapon glowed brighter than it had before, drawing in more of that same blood read energy from the craft. A loud, shrill scream left the Neroi, seeming to Eco from the water below. One last challenge, one last strike.

A massive explosion engulfed the craft.

The Neroi dropped fast, now in two parts. The pieces of the craft smashed into the water, exploding and shattering upon impact. What was once a deadly foe that slaughtered mankind...was now nothing more than glowing debris on the water's surface. James couldn't believe it. One minute, it was there. Now it wasn't. His dead silence was over ruled by the thunderous racket over the radio of all the men down below cheering. As he flew over the deck of the Yorktown, he could see sailors wiping their hats up in the air, shaking hands and cheering as he flew over the deck. He could still see some smoke roll over the side of the ship, being from fires that were still burning, but the crew seemed to have the situation under control. What could be seen as a disaster turned into a miracle. They had only fought four Neroi, but those four Neroi had done a tremendously deadly job on the fleet, and they came out on top in the end. Any victory against the aliens was cause for cheering. James could tell by the amount of men on the deck of the Yorktown as well as the surrounding ships that they knew this as well, and where taking full advantage of the situation.

James couldn't stop a smile from growing on his face. He released the breath he didn't know he held on to and rolled his plane around to make another pass over the ship. As he turned, he could see the sun finally pierce through the clouds and illuminate the fleet below in a golden halo of light. He could also see some of that same light stream through holes in the plane he flew. It was only now that he looked at the damage that was inflected to his plane. His left and right wings, for the most part, were fine. Patches of armor were gone in spots and the tips of his wings were burned down to the air frame, but for the most part he came out on top. Looking back ahead of him, he could see cracks in the wind screen and surrounding canopy. Once again, nothing too bad. But he knew it was going to upset Eric quite a bit. He held back a snicker at the thought of Eric wringing his neck about the damage. James didn't like making his job harder, it just _**HAPPENED **_to get damaged.

Soon he felt the presence of the other planes around him as they reformed around their battered leader. All around him, the pilots gave thumbs up and salutes of different types. He could hear over the radio their praise and good will as they moved around him. He waved most of it off, giving praise to the Heavy fighter crews for their audacity and the others for following him into hell. Their reunion was cut short as a burst of static erupted over the radio.

"I see we still have our resident hero with us."

It was Jefferson, no mistaking that voice. James placed his mic near his face. "Yea, sadly I'm still here to give you hell,sir!" James roared back.

"Well… I guess I can live with that as long as you keep impressing me." There was some chuckling before he continued. "Excellent work out there. You do me, this fleet and this country proud. I am more than happy to keep you around."

"Thanks sir, but you should thank the others more than me. They're the crazy ones" Unbeknownst to everyone else, James was having a hard time keeping a grin off his face. He did know when to accept praise, but he still needs work on when to take credit. One his faults, a good one he was told. He liked to give others the praise and honors; he wasn't too big on being in the spot light.

"That's just like you, isn't it kid. I'll give my thanks to those men as well." Jefferson stated, a pause in his voice that changed from happy to somewhat concerned. "Well, normally I would tell you to come on home, but during the battle, a situation has developed to our south. It appears we weren't the only target. Multiple convoys heading to Europe have been attacked like ours was, with varying degrees of damage being brought in over the wireless."

That feeling from before, one of dread and worry reappeared in his gut. "I'm guessing casualties are high" James said with a ping of anger in his voice.

"Unfortunately, yes. From the numbers we're pulling in: Bravo and Charlie took heavy loses…and we haven't heard anything from delta in eight hours. We suffered what appears to be only light loses. Three liberties and six destroyers fully lost. Numbers of crew dead or wounded, unknown at this time." The last few bits seemed to suck the life out of both James and Jefferson. James did all he could from cussing over the mic. His knuckles were white from how hard his was griping the stick and he had a stare that could melt steel.

Jefferson continued, "It also seems like a fleet comprised of ships from the Fuso Imperial navy have come under heavy attack by what appears to be a mid-large type Neroi along with several small type craft. They're calling for any assistance possible. A group of witches have been deployed and are in route, but their at least another hour out. So, that makes us the closest responders. I'm tasking you and your flight with engaging the threat and to provide assistance while the witches get there."

James looked around at the planes near him. The men giving him thumbs up, meaning the message was relayed to the rest of the aviators. James nodded back before turning back to the headset. "Sir, we have the fuel and ammo to make it there, but I'm not sure what we can do once we get there."

A brief pause occurred before Jefferson answered back. "I know. I'm not asking you to win the fight lieutenant, you only need to buy time for the witches to get there. I know that's a lot, but from watching you just now, I have the utmost confidence that you can pull through."

James nodded again, a plan somewhat forming in his head. He would need to see what he was up against first, and he could use the time flying there to come up with just that plan. He rolled his neck and cracked his knuckles. "Roger that. The flight is on its way"

"Acknowledged, Lieutenant. Good hunting."

Lieutenant James thanked him before rolling his plane into a turn and proceeded to make his way toward the Fuso fleet. Behind him flew his allies in the sky. A ragtag bunch of hero's who just won a battle that was never in their favor. Now, they were tasked with fighting a battle that was unwinnable. For some reason, that didn't bother James nor the others like he thought it would. Instead, he flew lead in a formation of machine and man that flew with grace and raw power. Rows of planes flew together in close formation, most of them battered and beat to hell, but still ready to fight just as hard in their next battle as they did in their last. James knew he never did nor does deserve to lead such a band of people such as those around him. It was only recently that he even gave notion to leading men into battle and he still didn't trust his leadership ability fully nor his fighting ability. He hadn't even flown in a wing with the same people day in and out in over three years, but he decided that he had to do something to make sure these men made it back home. He would not fail them, not again.

He shook his head clear of those thoughts, images and memories from years ago. He had no time for that now, he would worry about those things later, once he brought these men back. He glanced down at a picture taped to the control console of a group of young men, all dressed in their flight uniforms and standing in front of a group of old P-40 War Hawks. His mind once again ran back to those images of yesteryear, a time long past that he hoped he could prevent again once he was transferred to another wing. That was his reason for being out here after all: a new start with some new friends. Without him even thinking it, his gloved hand ran along the older picture, holding it like it shatter if handled roughly. He left go after a while and looked ahead, noticing large black trails of smoke lingering into the sky from a battle in the distance. His left hand griped the throttle, pushing it forward slightly, causing the plane to pick up speed. The rest of the hellcats and Corsairs matched him and followed his lead. It would still be awhile before they would be within fighting range. His mind fell back to something Jefferson had said, "Witches huh. It's been awhile." He said with thought. It had been awhile since he last fought with a witch, a very long time ago as a matter of fact. He knew the different Witch squadrons from around this part of the world. But, He only knew of one that was within operation range of where he was.

A small smile appeared under his mask and he looked off into the distance where the mainland of Europe would be. A vary, vary stupidly small chance existed that it could possible. He wouldn't bet his life on it, but it was possible.

"Well, this just got even more interesting"

The flight of war planes continued to fly over the blue waters of the Atlantic and closer to their next battle. The roar of their engines echoing through the skyscape around them and down onto the water below. The clouds were beginning to dissipate and that nice blue sky from yesterday once again plastered itself around them. The same black smoke trails from before were still there, and grew closer with every passing second they moved closer. James knew this battle was going to be important, and now with his hunch in the back of this mind on who these witches would be, it gave him even more of a sense of thrill. He smiled again under that heavy brown mask of his, "Well… I knew it would happen one day." He focused even more now, he had to first make it to the battle and survive it before his hunch could be proven.

"_And trust me, it's going to be one hell of a battle"_

**(A/N)**

**Ayyy, what's up guys and gals. Its been A WHOLE YEAR since my last post. I don't even know if people still give a damn about this story, but from what I've seen after only putting one chapter out like a year ago It's still afloat. Sorry for the-short- gap in posting, school and work and this damn think called life got in the way, pesky little shit like that, you know.  
**

**I just wanted to say, thank you to everyone who has given this story a micro-nano-whatever second of their time. I've had a lot of ideas for other projects bouncing around in my head for over a year, on this and a few others that I might do later on after I finish this one up or something happens, I don't know, A asteroid strike or something small like that. But, once again, I just wanted to say thank you to all you people out there in the multiverse and beyond for reading this. There are going to grammar errors and possible spelling errors just because I'm human and all that, so just a head's up on that. It may have been a year, but I haven't taken a year to proof read it all the way through. I did my best but don't expect like Shakespearean-like writing here. **

**I'm excited about this project and another that involves a western animation (anime?) from a rather popular company that's pretty popular here on FF, like, in the 15k range of posts kind of popular (props if you can guess it). I don't really want to split my attention between two projects but I might depending on the response to this and just how ballsy I can get. Please, if you like the story, follow it and or me so i can get a sense of its growth.**

**Ramble, ramble...ramble. Thanks again everyone!**


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